in a quixoticistic sense
we are not found lacking
but do long for an end to endlessness

visions of grey crowds coagulate
the lab rats of statisticians
habituated to coagulated grey crowds
habituated to statistics

death am become news article
come of putrefaction indifference
life partitioned from non-life
growing from stagnated

the information of our age has not changed us

spirits made flesh
ghost operated organics
programmed; pristine

we confront

fractured assemblage ritualism
vacantly bored holes in billboard confessionals
mounting dull glossy vibes on the highway

it says

to eat our tails
pray for return to our pasts
and love our niche

**** that

here's to breaking the mold
here's to seizing the day

I will not wait